


Please Return to Bartender

by mrhiddles



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - War, M/M, POV Loki (Marvel), War, it's actually got lighthearted moments that most of my fics do not, no graphic depictions but some mentions of violence, soldier Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhiddles/pseuds/mrhiddles
Summary: He doesn’t know if Thor knows this, the way he talks about it, but it’s the end of the world.[From a prompt I saved from years ago to a massive prompt list doc, "OTP meet in bar, they hit it off when one learns the other is being deployed the next day."]





	Please Return to Bartender

**Author's Note:**

> Thor was deployed soon after the events of 9/11. I'm planning an actual war story for my other OTP Arthur/Eames from Inception that's requiring a lot of research, etc. But this is also my first Thorki fic in a year pretty much besides "Sunday". It's also got some lighthearted moments I'm not used to writing too much. Let me know what you think!

He’s only just met Thor, has only just begun to realize the way he talks with his hands, the nails on each finger kept close to the quick. Has only just started to like the way his pupils dilate when he laughs, before the skin around his eyes crinkles as he closes them and throws his head back, breath a chilling rush against his face and heavy with the scent of good whiskey.

Thor’s voice has only just barely sent chills along his flesh as he talks about this and about that. He wants to see the old El Camino Thor has spent seven years restoring at his mother’s house, because his neighborhood would likely steal it the second it’s out of his sight. He wants to read the book that was moved off to the side to allow for more drinks when Loki sat down in his booth, pushing his way into his life. Something with a wrinkled and illegible red spine, something he doesn’t recognize.

Thor watches him as he speaks, and that’s new. Seems to drink him in. Licks his lips and that’s him done for the night, he needs to see more, needs to know everything about this man sitting across from him looking tired and a little too old for the jeans he wears.

But Loki knows it’s the end of the world, and he won’t have this chance in five hours. Five hours isn’t enough.

He doesn’t know if Thor knows this, the way he talks about it, but it’s the end of the world.

\--

In the few minutes before Thor leaves, Loki doesn’t kiss him. Even though he wants to. Even though he wants to do so many things. Because if they ever see each other again, Loki knows somewhere in the back of the good, decent part of his brain, that Thor deserves more than a quick fuck and run. Loki wants more. He wants to leave a good impression. And that’s rare.

Instead, Loki takes the book dangling from Thor’s fingers and holds it between them, suspended. Thor just waits, a smile in his too calm eyes.

“I’m keeping this,” Loki tells him, the words hanging.

“For me?”

“For you. Yes.”

When Thor smiles, Loki’s knees wobble. He blames it on the whiskey and knows he’ll sleep well when he finally gets to bed. Thor surprises him by lifting one hand and winding gentle fingers through his hair, palm hot on his neck.

“Good,” is all he says.

Then he’s gone, and Loki knows it’s the end of the world.

\--

For the ten months he’s gone, Loki finds it less and less difficult to sleep as time passes. But he has nightmares, and they follow him around long after he wakes up. He hasn’t missed this. It’s been over fifteen years since he left home and yet, now, because of a stranger and two planes, he dreams terrible things that leave his eyes wet before he gets up.

Loki finds himself avoiding the news. But when he decides to grab a pretzel at the café down the street before work one morning, he can’t help but watch as a news crew covers a carbomb in a faraway desert. There’s children and soldiers and he sees the scroller at the bottom of the screen list names, but the one he’s fighting to catch sight of isn’t there.

That’s really all he needs.

But he’s still pissed at himself he never got a number, an email, anything at all.

It’s the end of the world, has been for ten months. Somehow though, it’s been delayed.

\--

Loki doesn’t go out too often anymore. He’s been more of a homebody in recent months, dedicated to going to work and waiting to sleep. Sif calls him stupid and unhealthy, gives him juice recipes, and Loki accepts it all. He doesn’t have anything to be upset about, really. He doesn’t know Thor, never did. Just liked the way he waves his hands around and the way he could handle his alcohol.

Really.

But he’s invited out by Sif and her friends, and he goes because he hasn’t been out in a long time. It’s the usual bar they go to, and he spies the booth he and Thor shared once so long ago. It’s empty.

Sif orders drinks for everyone one by one, then asks Loki.

“Loki, what about you? My treat remember?”

The bartender stares at him then and says, “Loki? I got a letter for you.”

Loki ignores the way Sif is staring at him and just nods dumbly as he gives his order. The bartender brings back the letter with their drinks.

“What the hell? Don’t tell me the guy has it bad for you?” Sif asks, frowning.

“Not at all, I really have no idea.”

He folds it once and tucks it in his wallet for later. He only just manages to read who it’s from.

\--

_Loki,_

_Sorry I sent this to the bar, but I never did ask your address. Figured it might have been too forward. But honestly, I’m regretting it now, because how many other Loki’s are out there? Maybe not too many now that I think about it but I don’t have a lot of paper and at the risk of sounding all over the place, I’m not going to restart this letter. ~~Have you~~ Maybe you have someone, and this is a hopeless attempt at trying to…I don’t know, inform you of what’s been going on. I’ve seen some of the news and I don’t know if you’ve been watching, if you even care or think about me over here, but I’m okay, for the most part. I actually was going to send you something along with this letter but turns out you can’t ship ballistics in international mail, especially when you’re presently deployed in an ongoing war. I’ll bring it home with me if I can. If I get home. I think I will. If a bullet in the abdomen can’t keep me down—well at least I know my hide can take it, yeah?_

_I’ve been thinking about you a lot. That’s crazy because we spent maybe three, four hours together, but it’s true and it’s been on mind. I want to see you again. And I wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m going to be okay._

_I’ll see you soon._

_Thor_

_PS if any other Loki gets this and has no idea what I’m talking about, please return to bartender Rick._

Loki doesn’t sleep that night. Just keeps reading Thor’s letter over and over again, drinking in his scratchy scrawl.

\--

It’s another month and Loki gets no response to the letter he sent back. He’s not entirely sure how quickly mail is relayed during war, and only grumbles privately, to himself, wordlessly.

It’s been a month and a day, and he’s sitting at home on his couch, clinging to a mug of hot chocolate because it’s fucking cold out and he might be sick, feeling sorry for himself because he can’t be mad at a war for taking someone away from him he hardly knows. He doesn’t _do that_. He’s also watching high pitched women complain about how much money they’re spending via trashy reality TV and really it’s just one of those nights.

He’ll be embarrassed about that in a year, but he’s not thinking about that right now.

Right now, he’s glowering, wondering how on earth a mother could think so far ahead as to name all her daughters with the same first letter to maintain her brand when he hears a knock at his door.

He stays still, wondering if whoever it is will go away, because he can’t be bothered. But then there’s a second knock so he sniffs and stands, bringing his blanket with him.

It’s a shitty apartment with too-high rent, resulting in a door that barely shuts enough to lock complete with no peep-hole. So when he yanks his door open he’s surprised by two things, it’s night already, and Thor is standing there.

Thor, in fatigues, with a huge pack slung across his back. Thor, who’s wearing an eyepatch and has his left hand in a cast. Thor. Thor.

“Thor,” he peeps out, because really, being sick and shocked are too things a voice does not work well with.

Thor smiles, broad and goofy and he looks rougher, older, his beard is longer, but he’s here in front of him with that same silly smile and all Loki can think to do is go to him. He wraps his arms around Thor and he’s tearing up, he’s crying, fucking crying, over a stranger. But is he stranger, really? It doesn’t feel like it.

The way Thor returns the hug, his arms tight, his fingers digging hard into Loki’s back, it’s warm and too much and everything Loki wants for the rest of his days. The thought is terrifying, but he’s crying, and that’s terrifying too.

Thor buries his nose in Loki’s neck and inhales long and deep and Loki thinks, _he’s gonna get sick_ , but doesn’t care.

“I have your book,” Loki says, voice a mangled mess.

Thor chokes off a laugh and nods against him. Mumbles a muffled, “I knew you’d take care of it for me.”

Loki wants to say a lot of things. Wants to ask him to tell him everything. Wants to know every moment, wants to know what’s under that eyepatch, wants to kiss him, to finish his trashy show with him, wants to go have a drink, make food together, bathe him, blow him, feel the rise and fall of his breast as he sleeps—

He just keeps holding on.

Because the end of world was a long time coming, and it passed just like any other day.


End file.
